


getting to like you (getting to hope you like me)

by daylight_angel, onekisstotakewithme



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Confessions, Quarantine Dopamine Machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daylight_angel/pseuds/daylight_angel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: When she'd got the call from Charles, she'd been surprised.
Relationships: Donna Marie Parker/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	getting to like you (getting to hope you like me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_raven/gifts).



When she'd got the call from Charles, she'd been surprised. They'd kept in contact, of course, after their un-marriage she'd written him and received beautiful letters in return, well penned. In each paragraph she could practically  _ hear _ his posh vocabulary and accent through the cursive, but she'd expected their first reunion to be well after the war. 

She'd never expected to be bouncing along the roads to his unit in the back of a ratty old jeep again, much less at his behest. 

The line was filled with static, but she'd never heard him speak in that tone before.

And here she is, almost to the 4077. 

She'd like to argue that her memories of the place are hazy, but the second she comes over the last hill (complete with a pothole that sends her cap flying off into the landscape, never to be seen again), and sees the "Best Care Anywhere" sign, it all comes back into vivid, terrifying focus. 

Golden oak leaves and a comic book and a crooked bow tie she could never quite straighten.

And Chuck (her Chuck, but not hers at all).

Her driver pulls up with a jerk just outside the Swamp, and she hops out with her bag. There's no one here to greet her this time, the camp empty and bright in daylight but everywhere she turns she sees an echo of the few days she'd spent here. Here, the place she'd first met his crazy bunkies; over there, the rock she'd tripped over her second day; and through the mosquito netting, the first place her Chuck kissed her and meant it.

She sighs, hand clenching tight where she's holding her bag as the jeep roars away. 

Where  _ is _ everyone?

As she walks over to the VIP tent, her shoes scuffing the dirt, she notices the dark drops of what have to be blood staining the dirt, and it all becomes clear.

She can't even imagine what surgery must be like (Chuck had told her a bit, and what she's heard, she wished she hadn't), and knows her presence likely won't help current affairs. So she drops her bag inside the tent, tries to smooth down the hair that has come unpinned thanks to the long journey, and tries to wonder how welcome she'd be to go sit in the Swamp and wait for Chuck to come back.

He's the reason she's here, professional courtesy or not. 

She settles instead for the chair just outside the Swamp, well-used and weather-worn, leaning her head back to take in a rare peaceful day.

But when she closes her eyes, she just imagines the buzz of the helicopters, the sounds of nurses and doctors shouting, the pattering of blood in the dirt.

It's hell out here, she decides, even if there is a shiny top coat.

She's not sure how long she sits there, waiting for him, but it's long enough that the afternoon sun changes from high overhead to somewhere mid-sky. She peers up, holding up her hands in front of her face and counting. She'd never been good at this, but if she remembers correctly what she'd learned from her father, it's about three o'clock now. She closes her eyes again, trying to imagine the cool water of the lake behind her childhood home instead of what's going on just to her left in the only solid building for miles. A shadow soon passes over, probably a passing cloud. 

"Donna?" a tired voice asks.

_ Damn. _

She was hoping for Chuck, but instead it's Hawkeye, crazy bunkie number one. "Hello Hawkeye," she says, amazed and concerned at how tired he looks, a faded jacket thrown over blood-stained scrubs. "Rough day at the office?"

He cackles, shaking his head. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'm not in your seat, am I?"

He shakes his head again, giving her a worn-out smile. "Nope. Tell me, Miss Parker, are you too sick of coffee and donuts to accompany me to the mess tent?"

"Do they  _ have _ coffee and donuts?"

"More like tar and jeep tires, courtesy of the motor pool," he says, offering her an arm. "Shall we?"

She takes it. "How long have you been in surgery?" she asks. 

He does what she did, glancing at the sky, before he shrugs. "About seven hours. Charles- sorry,  _ Chuck _ is just finishing up his last patient, and then he'll be joining us. Does he know you're here?"

"I was hardly going to walk into surgery and announce myself," she replied dryly, deciding once again that she likes Hawkeye Pierce.

He grins. "You mean it  _ wasn't _ take your Red Cross Worker to Work Day?"

This makes her laugh, as they walk into the mess tent.

Hawkeye directs her to a table, where she sits while he fetches a few cups of coffee, balancing four or five precariously on top of each other.

"I could have helped," she chides as he slides one to her. He smiles tiredly as he takes a sip and doesn't answer. 

They're the first ones in the tent, but it fills up quickly, nurses and orderlies filing in, their scrubs bloodied. Some seemingly aren't even there for the sub-par coffee but for the company, unwilling to part even after seven hours standing shoulder to shoulder in blood. Hunnicutt, crazy bunkie number two, joins them first, sliding in next to Hawkeye and stealing a sip of his coffee. 

"I got you your own," Hawkeye protests. 

"I like yours better," BJ responds, before turning his attention to her. "Donna, nice to see you. Does Charles know you're here?" 

She nods her head yes. "He asked me."

BJ and Hawkeye share a look she can't decipher.

"Do you always do that?" she asks in between sips of coffee, thinking about how it really  _ is _ tar.

"Do what?" BJ asks first, breaking the silent conversation he and Hawkeye seem to be having.

She gestures between them with her coffee cup. "That."

Hawkeye does a full body shrug that nearly unseats BJ from the bench. "Old habits die hard."

"We do it in surgery, too," BJ agrees. "Much easier when you know what instrument your partner will reach for next."

"Well..." she studies the rim of her coffee cup, trying to forget that three days doesn't really mean she knows these people, as a silence descends on them. 

BJ says after a moment, "Sorry we're not good company, you just caught us with our scalpels down."

"You work very hard here," she says.

Both of them nod, exchanging another look, and then Hawk grins. "Hey Beej, we're about to be thrown over."

"Clap hands," BJ agrees. "Here comes Charlie."

She turns around, and there he is. 

Weaving between the tables and carrying a pitcher- no doubt to refill the coffee, looking like he's already sleep-walking.

And then he notices her, just as he gets to the table, and stops short. "Donna."

She stands up, giving him a shy smile, trying to ignore how her heart has chosen now to start whirring inside her chest like a helicopter blade. "Hi Chuck. Long time no see."

Three days might not mean she knows these people, but she  _ does _ know Charles and it's a testament to how tired he is when he almost drops the pitcher. It avoids falling to the floor only by the quick action of Hawkeye, who leaps up to grab it before it can slip from Chuck's fingers. 

"You came," he breathes, grasping at her hand. BJ and Hawkeye have another silent conversation over her shoulder and get up from the table, moving together. 

"Of course I came," she says as soon as they're out of earshot. She can feel either her or his heartbeat in her fingertips, she's not sure which. "of course I did."

"I didn't... that is..." Charles is stammering as he sinks to the bench beside her. "I honestly didn't think you would."

"I said I would," she tells him, softly, reaching up to run a hand over the stubble on his face. "And here I am."

This startles a smile out of him, and his fingers tighten around hers. "Here you are."

"It's a cozy little vacation spot, Chuck," she says, "but a long way to come for a long weekend."

She doesn't ask, but he nods in understanding.

He doesn't say anything right away, simply holding her hand with his head bowed. She's a little lost, because as well as she knows this man everything she's learned has been at a distance. She knows the tilt of his i's means he's worried, and when he uses written contractions he's tired, but his body language is an unfamiliar country. She doesn't know if he's gathering his thoughts or losing it, but all she can do is hold on tight and learn as quickly as she can. 

When he sighs into his coffee she turns his face up to her. 

"Donna," he whispers, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, "would it be too forward if I were to admit I simply missed you?"

"Not at all, you silly man," she says, and for a second her heart aches. "You're allowed to have emotions, darling."

He relaxes a little under her touch, his eyes opening, blue and brimming with feeling. "I missed you. God only knows how much."

"God may not know, but I think I have some idea. If it's anything like how I missed you."

She may not have a hold on his body language, but he still blinks in surprise at her words.

It warms her heart to see him blush, the way he stammers, and she laughs in spite of herself. 

"Did you really not know?" she asks, glad the mess tent has mostly cleared out so she can indulge the whim to lean forward and kiss him. She thinks he'd let her regardless, but she knows he's touchy about displays of public affection, and she doesn't want to push. He looks so exhausted that she wants, more than anything, to simply tuck him in and guard his bedside for a week.

"I, I'd  _ hoped," _ he says, still shocked.

She laughs again, and is relieved when he gives her a soft smile, and he's damn near glowing with contentment, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel the same. "Darling, you're..." 

"Handsome? Skilled?"

"You're allowed to love me," she tells him, and can't hold back a grin as she says it. "You're allowed to love me, if I'm allowed to love you."

She doesn't know the clear path of where to go from here, doesn't know what to do if he doesn't in fact love her the way she's come to love him. 

"How can you love me?" Charles asks. "When you hardly  _ know _ me?"

"Oh Chuck, darling, as if I didn't know enough. You take your coffee black, but you put sugar in your tea, you have a sister named Honoria who I haven't met but already adore, when you write letters you only use contractions if you're tired, and Chuck.. your smile could ruin me at twenty paces. And if that's not enough, I love you."

He's speechless, and after months of letters, beautiful,  _ wonderful  _ letters, the long trip and the falling in love from afar, it's too much, the silence. 

"I love you, I really do," she laughs, "and I know so much about you and I want to know so much more." She squeezes his hand, ducks her head shyly. 

"Donna, I-" 

"Just, please Chuck, tell me you want to learn more too."

"Well... I..." He laughs in a way that sounds like he's fighting back tears. "Donna..."

"Please," she says, and hopes he understands.

And then he beams at her, a completely brilliant smile that makes every other smile he's given her dim by comparison, and it's like the sun is shining out of him. "It would be a privilege to spend a lifetime getting to know you, my dear."

He lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss to it, and she immediately throws her arms around him, and things click into place, like the dot of an "i", and it's simple.

And it's good.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Getting to Know You" from _The King & I _


End file.
